


everyone falls for the sunshine disguise

by demiromcom (mayerwien)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/demiromcom
Summary: It hardly feels real, though Remus has known this for some time, has contemplated it from all sides the way he does most everything. The more he tries to hold onto things, memories, feelings—the more they slip away from him. No. Best to just take things as they come, one day at a time.And for now, anyway, he has two weeks—two glorious weeks with James and Sirius and the sunlit lane outside his window, stretching out before him—and right now Remus thinks he has never been happier.---Marauders summer fic, circa 2017. THIS WORK IS INCOMPLETE (AND STILL HAS MY FILLER TEXT IN IT).
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Collections: Good Intentions: Abandoned and Unfinished WIPs





	everyone falls for the sunshine disguise

**Author's Note:**

> literally a mess, you have been warned

Remus loves the guest room at James’ house.

Of course, he always shared it with Peter whenever they stayed here over the summer holidays, while Sirius never wasted any time in strewing his pants and socks all over James’ room. (On more than one occasion, this has resulted in one of them accidentally putting on a pair of the other’s underwear, realizing their mistake, then shrugging and continuing to wear it for the rest of the day—which perhaps says more about James and Sirius’ friendship than anything else.) Now that Sirius has moved in with the Potters, however, the guest room is Sirius’ bedroom—and Remus envies him more than a little for it, for the faded green wallpaper with the rabbits in the pattern, that twitch their ears and stamp their feet; the single tall shelf brimming over with well-loved books, Muggle and Wizarding both; the quilt-covered bed by the window, and the view of the white picket fence and the lane outside.

So Remus feels simultaneously pleased and somewhat guilty when, upon their arrival at Godric’s Hollow the summer after sixth year, he learns the guest room will be his again for the next two weeks.

“Sorry for kicking you out of your bed,” Remus says apologetically to Sirius, after they’ve all dumped their schooltrunks in the front hall and squeezed around them to kiss Mrs. Potter on the cheek. James is summarily dragged off by his mother to look at how nicely the flower-boxes are coming along, so Remus and Sirius decide to start taking everything upstairs—the old-fashioned way, unfortunately, since none of them are of age yet.

“Nonsense,” Sirius replies airily, picking up one end of Remus’ trunk. “What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remus picks up the other end, and they shuffle towards the stairs, Sirius forwards and Remus backwards. “Does that extend to any questionable reading material I might find _under_ your bed?“ Remus asks.

Sirius takes one hand off the trunk and puts it to his chest, looking insulted. “You _wound_ me, Moony,” he says, then adds in a low voice, “if you think I’d keep anything where James’ mum could find it. I put a false bottom into the closet, of course,” emphasizing this last with one of his famous winks. Remus merely rolls his eyes and smiles back.

The guest room, rightmost door on the second floor, is already open and waiting for him. Mrs. Potter has no doubt tidied up in here since they’ve been at school, but there are still telltale signs of Sirius everywhere—

Muggle film posters that have been tacked to the walls, photographs he’s taken in stacks on the desk. Remus guesses Sirius didn’t take a lot with him when he left home last summer; the less he has to remind him of being a Black the better. If anyone could really run away from home and mean it, Remus thinks to himself, glancing around, it _would_ be Padfoot.

They drop the trunk at the foot of the bed and keel over onto the floor, lying on their backs and staring at the ceiling. “Shame Pete couldn’t be with us this summer,” Remus remarks.

Sirius snorts, lifting a hand to run it through his curls. “Don’t go feeling sorry for Wormy. He’s living it up in Amsterdam with his parents, the lucky bastard.”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t trade it for here, though.”

“Me either.” Sirius pauses, and Remus knows without looking that a grin is spreading across his friend’s face. “Is it weird that all year, even with all the Great Hall feasts…I’ve been dreaming about eggy bread and bacon at the Stoat’s Den?”

Remus smiles. Godric Hollow’s only pub is well-loved by the Marauders—even though the barman and the staff have all watched James grow up, and therefore know _exactly_ how old he is, which is _still too young for a pint._ “Sometimes I think you’d sell your soul to put a pound of eggy bread and bacon in your stomach,” Remus says.

Sirius pokes Remus in the ribs. “I’d sell my soul to put a pound in yours,” he says. “Look at you. You’re like something the thestrals have picked clean.”

Remus squirms away uncomfortably. “It’s my—“

“Fast metabolism, yeah, yeah.” Sirius’ hand rests on Remus’ stomach for one second, two, his long fingers just brushing the skin exposed by the hem of Remus’ shirt—before he takes his hand away, lacing his fingers beneath his head. “No fear. While you’re here, you’ll eat four square meals a day.”

Forcing his heartbeat to return to normal, Remus settles back on the carpet again, the worn fibers rubbing against the back of his neck. “Hard to believe this is the last summer before graduation, isn’t it,” he says, trying to turn the subject away from him.

Sirius groans. “Stop it. You’re getting sentimental again.” He gets up and takes his Polaroid camera off the desk, slinging the strap around his neck. Remus had been with him when he bought it, in a Muggle thrift shop one of their previous summers.

“I’m just saying,” Remus protests, sitting up and pulling his knees loosely to his chest.

Sirius fiddles with a little wheel on the camera. “You worried about the future, Moony? As if you’re not going to get an O on all your N.E.W.Ts and go on to be the youngest Minister of Magic in history.”

“I’m touched by your confidence. But from what I know, there aren’t exactly a lot of employment options for…” Remus pauses. “Well.”

Sirius’ gaze snaps up, and something new is bleeding into his expression—realization, anger; disappointment in himself, perhaps, for not thinking of it sooner. “Well, those bigoted employers can all go to hell,” he says bluntly. “And you’ll find somewhere, Moony. Any really good person would be a bloody idiot not to take you on.”

“Dumbledore said…” _We might have need of you,_ was what Dumbledore said. Remus has no doubt Dumbledore knows what he’s worried about; but to think he cares about him and will do something to make it all easier for him, is a kindness he doesn’t dare hope for. “He said he’d help, I think.”

“There. You see? Dumbledore will know what to do.” Sirius looks satisfied. “And like you said, we’ve got one year left before we all go our separate ways.” He lifts the camera to his eye. “Anything could happen before then.”

Sirius doesn’t ask Remus to smile; he knows Remus smiles if he feels like it.

James sticks his head around the doorframe. “Oi, house-elves,” he says. “Fancy going down Wright’s Way to sit on the fence and say hello to the girls coming home from school?”

“Excellent.” Sirius grins, sticks his legs straight up in the air, and vaults to his feet. shrugs on his black leather jacket, old and soft. “Got a deck of cards anywhere? I can volunteer to tell their fortunes. _‘A dark-haired, rakishly handsome young man is in your near future…’”_

James laughs and punches Sirius’ shoulder, and the two of them go pounding down the stairs. “Hurry up, Moony,“ James yells backwards.

Sighing good-naturedly, Remus takes his time getting to his feet, looking around the room. As he does, Sirius’ words echo in his mind. _One year left before we all go our separate ways._

It hardly feels real, though Remus has known this for some time, has contemplated it from all sides the way he does most everything. The more he tries to hold onto things, memories, feelings—the more they slip away from him. No. Best to just take things as they come, one day at a time.

And for now, anyway, he has two weeks—two glorious weeks with James and Sirius and the sunlit lane outside his window, stretching out before him—and right now Remus thinks he has never been happier.

Sunset arrives late in summer, so it’s still light when they come back from Wright’s Way and sit down to a Sunday roast, with cherry pie for dessert. Afterwards they lounge around in front of the fireplace; Remus reads in an armchair, occasionally lifting his head to talk politics and literature with James’ dad—while James and Sirius play chess on the floor, and James’ mum cross-stitches to an opera on the record player.

“Good to see you’re keeping up with your reading, Remus,” comments Mr. Potter with approval, running a hand through his graying hair. He taps his pipe against his chin; not smoking it, merely chewing on the end of it. Remus supposes it’s one of those old-family things. “Hm. You’ll be taking Alchemy, James said?”

“Yes, sir,” Remus says. “I’m not very good at Potions, but Alchemy is mostly theory, so I enjoy it.”

“Fascinating stuff. I always liked that subject, myself; didn’t pursue it at N.E.W.T. level, of course, but I got the books anyway for leisure reading. Will you still be using Bashir’s Compendia?”

“I…think so,” Remus says. “Professor Borage mentioned it, I don’t think he trusts anything else.”

“I know I’ve the full set around here somewhere…it’s yours, if you want it.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Remus begins faintly, but Mr. Potter is already getting up and crossing to the bookshelf, muttering _Accio Bashir’s._ Five leather-bound books with gold come soaring gently out of the bottom shelf

Remus shifts uncomfortably, but Mr. Potter is beaming at him

Giving away things like this is—it’s nothing to them.

“Thank you,” Remus says quietly. “So much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Sirius glances at Remus then, and, looking back helplessly at his friend, Remus realizes Sirius has seen his discomfort.

“Moony, take a turn, will you,” Sirius sighs, rolling over onto his back and flinging an arm over his eyes. “Prongs is being insufferable.”

James makes a rah-rah gesture. “Potter, King of the Quidditch Field _and_ of the Chessboard.”

Remus shoots Sirius a grateful look.

Somehow, Remus expected Sirius to take his place in the armchair, but instead Sirius merely scoots back and plops down on the carpet behind him, legs crossed. “What’s this you’re reading?” he asks, sliding the book off the chair.

“Muggle novel,” Remus replies absently. “Pawn to C4, please.” Saluting him, his pawn scuttles forward.

Sirius turns the book over. “Oh! Good old Evelyn. You know, some people think he was…” He trails off.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sirius grows quiet, opening the book and flipping through it.

The difference between playing chess with Sirius, Remus reflects as he coaxes a pawn forward, and playing chess with James, is that at least James is competitive enough to want to win. Sirius plays just to play, recklessly moves pieces without thinking ahead, not caring if he’s soundly beaten in five moves. It’s hardly a challenge, playing with Sirius; James is a proper opponent, even if he does have a tendency to pick up the chess pieces and use them to demonstrate Quidditch plays.

While James tears into Remus’ pawns, Sirius has apparently chosen to busy himself by picking out all the paper clips Remus uses as bookmarks and slipping them onto the ends of Remus’ hair. “Knight to…” Remus blinks, distracted by the sensation of

[chess move]

“Hah,” James says triumphantly.

“Oh, it is nice to have you boys here,” Mrs. Potter says. “The house is so _quiet_ when you’re all at school. I keep telling James to bring more friends home.”

“Evans, always hanging about with Sluggy and the Slug Club,” James mutters.

Then Sirius stops, fingers stilling in his hair, and Remus knows why. On their last full moon romp through the Forest, he and Padfoot had gotten into a playful tussle, which ended with Padfoot sinking his teeth into the back of the wolf’s neck. In his excitement, he did it hard enough to leave a faint scar—which is what Sirius’ thumb is tracing over now.

Frowning, James prods his bishop, a piece which became incredibly nervous after Peter accidentally dropped it in the common room one evening, and is now reluctant to move at all. “Go on, _bishop to F5,_ I said.”

“Won’t,” the bishop replies sullenly.

“Did—was this—“ Sirius stutters.

“It’s fine,” Remus murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.

“But—“

Remus turns his head, just enough that he can see the edge of Sirius’ expression. “I said, it’s fine, Pads,” he repeats, and he means it.

[James talking to bishop]

squeezes Remus’ shoulder gently.

Remus swallows / his throat closing

“What’s this opera, Monty?” Sirius asks Mr. Potter suddenly, lowering his hands. If he notices Remus stiffen slightly, he makes no sign of showing it. Reaching for his camera,

“Purcell Graveworthy’s _Sir Luckless and Amata,_ my dear boy,” Mr. Potter replies. “

Sirius focuses and clicks away. [takes photo of James and Remus, takes photo of dad and mum]

“We wrote an opera while we were at school, didn’t we, Sirius?” James muses.

“We certainly did, James.” Sirius’ eyes light up.

“Oh god.” Remus buries his face in his hands.

 _“Sing, Muses, sing, of the brave Marauders four,”_ James belts out, horribly off-key.

 _“The brave and noble Marauders, _,”_ Sirius chimes in, leaping to his feet and wrapping the drawing-room curtain around himself like a robe. “Oh, next is the Latin bit, you’re the one who wrote that, Moony, go on…”

“I wrote it only under great duress,” Remus says apologetically to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, then with a resigned sigh, sings, “

“,” and a slow grin spreads across Remus’ face.

bellowing the chorus at the top of their lungs until James’ mum, laughing, shoos them off to bed.

In the morning when Remus wakes, he comes down the stairs, rounds the corner into the kitchen and stops dead. Sirius is sitting on a stool, the morning light behind him, while James’ mum cuts his hair.

looking mulish

Grinning, Remus drags a stool up in front of Sirius and sits down, ducking his head so he can see Sirius’ face better.

Sirius looks happier now that he’s been living at the Potters’. At school he’s always jovial and ready for misdeeds, of course—but ever since they were twelve, Remus noticed the way he was at the start of term, just come back from the summer at the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black; the way Sirius’ laughter was louder and fiercer as though he was using it to drown out the demons howling in his head. And the way Sirius was at the end of term, drinking in every single thing, as though he was steeling himself for the months to come.

He’s in the home he was meant to have, now.

“How’s that?” Sirius asks, shaking his head and flicking his hair out of his eyes. It’s fluffier now, and falls just halfway down his neck instead of hanging down to his shoulders.

“Much less shaggy dog,” Remus says with a smile,

Remus used to tease Sirius like this all the time without a care. But there’s something in the jokes, now, something he knows he _wants,_ and Remus hates himself for being conscious of it.

“, anyhow. _Mum,”_ he yells into the house.

 _“What,”_ James’ mum yells back.

_“We’re having dinner at the pub, Mum.”_

falling asleep at the table???

[PUB SCENE]

Stew, sHARING EGGY BREAD AND BACON, is there a seisun

James is writing something on the back of his paper napkin

“What’re you writing?”

“Eh? Oh, nothing—just thought of ,” James says casually, folding up the napkin into a tiny square and stuffing it into his jeans pocket.

A group of middle-aged men and women over from Ireland

“Go on, love, give us a song,”

Sirius sighs gustily. “Oh, well, if you _insist,”_ he says, and then opens his mouth and begins to sing. _“Oh, all the money that e’er I spent, I spent it in good company—and all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me—“_

The fiddler picks up on it right away and accompanies him, Sirius’ voice ringing out rich and full across the pub as a hush falls over the rest of the patrons.

“Oh, all the comrades that e’er I had, are sorry for my going away—and all the sweethearts that e’er I had, would wish me one more day to stay,” Sirius continues.

And it occurs to Remus, suddenly, that their lives will take very different paths. James, charmed life that he has, will shine wherever he goes. Sirius will be out there bravely, fiercely making a life for himself—and Remus will be forever confined to the shadows.

“But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not—I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call, good night and joy be with you all.”

“Remus! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just—I felt all of a sudden like you were going somewhere,”

“I’m not going anywhere,”

lYING IN THE GRASS

remus lies down with hands folded neatly on his stomach and sirius and james are super sprawled out

anchored to the earth, a thread like the ones tying the constellations together, one between him and Sirius and the sky

Remus has never slept well, so he’s gotten into the habit of reading when he wakes in the middle of the night. At the moment, he’s in bed with his book and the carriage lamp on his bedside table lit.

“Knock knock, Moony.” Sirius is offering him a wan smile from the doorway. “Mind if I join you?”

Remus gestures silently to

He does this often enough at Hogwarts, tumbling onto the foot of Remus’ four-poster with his Exploding Snap deck in hand, or sprawling out across the duvet while Remus is trying to finish an essay. Somehow, Sirius seems to know when Remus is capable of responding to his idle chatter, however absently, and when the moment calls for actual silence—and so Remus has almost never had to kick Sirius out. Sometimes Sirius falls asleep, and he’s a heavy sleeper, _. Sometimes Sirius can’t sleep, and _. Even when Remus deep in the throes of [studying], Sirius’ presence isn’t unwelcome to him. It’s comforting, somehow.

It’s funny—everyone knows that James-and-Sirius are the ultimate partners in crime. But somehow everyone also knows that Remus-and-Sirius are special. Untouchable. Perhaps because of the way they quickly breached each other’s barriers when they were much younger; once they’d gotten that out of the way, their friendship had become just another constant. Not mere opposites attracting—more like two strange elements fusing, into something unfathomable but sure.

“Read to me?”

_“[blah blah reading]_

_“[WHERE MY FAMILY LIVES QUOTE]_

“’M falling asleep,” Sirius mumbles. “Sorry. Should I—”

“No, you can stay,” Remus says, then adds quickly, softly, “if you want.”

“Mmm. Night.”

“You’re all bones,” Sirius mumbles, shifting his head so his chin isn’t digging quite so much into Remus’ shoulder, and curling his fingers gently into Remus’ side.

It takes much longer for Remus to fall asleep.

In the morning when Remus wakes Sirius is gone; he figures sometime in the night Sirius went back to James’ room, where he’s probably passed out still—he’s not famous for being an early riser.

[what do they do]

Brushing teeth 2gether

“Wotcher,”

“I’ll be moving out of here,” Sirius says.

“What?” Remus sits up.

“Well, yeah, you didn’t expect me to hang around mooching off the Potters forever, did you? I’m buying a flat.”

The idea of Sirius living alone

“If you ever needed. You know. A place to stay…my door’ll always be open.”

“’Course, Moony.” Sirius looks slightly shocked.

“I’m hungry,” Sirius says unexpectedly, sitting up. “Are you hungry? I’m going to get ice cream.” [THIS PART IS AWKWARD BC SIRIUS DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO ACT AFTER KISSING REMUS????]

lays a bowl over the blanket in Remus’ lap. Butterbeer ice cream, out of one of Florence Fortescue’s no-melt cartons, and two slices of toast.

sitting up in bed with ice cream and toast, Remus reflects that he’s loved Sirius for almost as long as he’s known him.

Sirius reaches over to set their bowls on the bedside table in a neat stack and then rests his head on the pillow

“These summer storms,”

It’s this place, tricking them into doing things they wouldn’t normally do. This damn house, this rain—

“You’re thinking too much,” Sirius says softly.

“How do you know,”

“Because you always think too much,”

Sirius whuffs, his breath coming out in a soft, warm

digging the pads of his fingers gently into Remus’ skin.

Things are always simple to Sirius, and if they’re not he’ll make them simple.

closes his eyes, his mouth still against Sirius’ temple,

And in the morning when Remus wakes Sirius is still there,

\--

TAKING IN STRAYS

remus hides a smile re james owling lily

Sirius takes photograaaaphs they pass the camera around

at one point: it’s kind of funny that you like muggle photographs, they don’t move; i like being able to capture one precise moment

AND THEN HE KISSES REMUS

“We’re going Marauding,” crows Sirius triumphantly.

James taps the side of his nose. “We don’t need magic to go Marauding,”

[do they do something dumb like break into the school, something something creek]

James leaps down the last three steps and lands smack in the middle of the hallway. “All right, let’s go,” he says breathlessly.

Sirius squints at him with suspicion. “Who d’you keep owling?”

“What?”

“I saw you tearing your hair out over a bit of parchment. And Goldie keeps leaving the house. Who are you owling?”

“Oh. Nobody, I was just…sending away for things,” James says evasively. “Oil for polishing my broom.”

“You would think,” Sirius muses, “that being best friends with a prefect would mean I’d get into less trouble than I do.”

“You only think that because you expect me to turn the other way when I see you breaking a rule,” Remus replies, smiling.


End file.
